Jason E Mohler

Albia Academy was imposing. Or rather, the fifteen-foot-tall stone wall surrounding it was. No, that wasn’t it, the mere idea of the school was imposing. It was Ceta’s seventh new school in three years and, despite her father’s reassurances, she doubted it would be her last. Why couldn’t he hire a tutor for her like the rest of the embassy parents? Or, better yet, why couldn’t he have left her back home with her mother?

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The last thought sent a wave of grief through her. He couldn’t leave Ceta with her mother because she was dead. Still, a tutor would work just fine, and she wouldn’t have to deal with a new school every other day.

 

“Milady?” Her attendant prompted.

 

“Sorry, Sani,” she said, returning to the present. With a sigh, she stepped through the gates. The academy building might have been the same stone as its protective walls, but there was no way to tell through its white stucco. The flagstones leading to the building, however, did match the walls, and Ceta began the long walk towards yet another new beginning.

 

First days were always the worst. All she wanted to do was blend in - to hide - but she never had a school uniform that first day. She’d tried matching as best she could but gave up; it seemed like her attempts at camouflage just made her stand out more, and she’d decided if it wasn’t going to work anyway, she might as well be comfortable. Today she wore a gold silk blouse and black divided skirt that matched the school’s colors without coming close to the other students. They all wore black frock coats trimmed in gold over matching pants, making them look more like soldiers than students. Then again, she’d been warned the Chaki took status seriously, and no one’s status was higher than the military’s. In fact, that was why she was here instead of some simpler school. Given her father’s position in the delegation, Albia Academy was the best place, both for her and her home.

 

Ceta had her doubts about that. Doubts that were apparently shared by the shadow suddenly blocking her path.

 

“Who are you?” He scowled. He was tall and rangy, with the same wavy black hair as the rest of the Chaki, and she guessed he was maybe a year or two older than her.

 

“Ceta,” she said. When that didn’t seem to be enough, she continued. “Ceta Lerium. Who are you?”

 

“Taler, son of Commander Otana Morez. This is a closed campus.”

 

“And...?” She assumed the boy’s name meant something to the other Chaki, but all it meant to her was that his... Father? Mother?... That one of his parents was an officer. She studied him, trying to determine his Element. Probably Earth, she decided; he didn’t seem like someone who appreciated change. She had a good touch of Earth in her herself, but Fire and Water warred for the rest of her soul.

 

“No outsiders are allowed on school grounds.”

 

“Then it’s a good thing I’m a student, isn’t it?”

 

“You? A student?” He looked over her outsider’s clothes and snorted.

 

Ceta rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m supposed to meet with the dean before class, and I’d really don’t want to be late.”

 

The boy stepped in front of her again when she tried to pass. She sighed. “Let’s cut to the chase; you don’t think I belong here, and I have to see the dean before class, so why don’t we say after school on the north lawn? How’s that sound?”

 

He took a step back. “What?”

 

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You don’t think I’m supposed to be here and you’re trying to scare me off,” she said with a bravado she didn’t feel. “And since it’s not going to work, you’re going to challenge me, right? North lawn, after school. Any particular style?”

 

Taler blinked. He obviously hadn’t expected her to take the lead, but he recovered quickly. “Against you? Bring whatever you want.”

 

She nodded. “Bated blades, or live steel?”

 

Her opponent’s confidence might have been waning, but if it was, he did a good job of hiding it. “You’re not worth killing,” he sneered.

 

“Good choice.” She looked at Sani. “Ruby?”

 

Her attendant studied the boy as she considered Ceta’s suggestion. Ruby’s longer blade would be a good counter to the boy’s reach, but Chaki were known for their skill with the sword. Better to play it safe. “Amethyst, I’d say.”

 

“Really? I thought a little extra range would be good.”

 

“Against him?” It was her attendant’s turn to snort. Ceta knew what Sani was doing; she’d taught her how to play these games after all. And, in all the years she’d known her attendant, she’d been right far more often than she’d been wrong when it came to weapons.

 

“If you say so. Armor?”

 

“Only if you’re afraid of a little pain,” Taler said.

 

She nodded and looked at her attendant.

 

“I will make the arrangements.”

 

“Thank you,” She returned her attention to the boy. “Now that that’s settled, I have places to be.”

 

Ceta brushed past him as Sani turned to leave. She realized as soon as she’d made her escape that her encounter hadn’t gone unnoticed; eyes and whispers followed her all the way to Albia Hall.

 

There was no hiding now.

 

#

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Sani was there after the last class ended, waiting with a long case in her hands and a well-worn leather bag slung over her shoulder. Behind her stood a simple maid carrying a carefully folded uniform in the crimson and black of her house.

 

“Your father insisted,” her attendant said, walking beside her towards the washroom.

 

“He knows?” Ceta came to a startled stop. “Please tell me he’s not coming.”

 

“No.”

 

“Thank the Elements.” That was the last thing she needed, her father’s critical eyes watching for any mistake she might make. Or worse, watching her lose.

 

“He did say to remind you that you’re representing Thera and House Lerium.”

 

Ceta groaned. No, no losing for her. There was no such thing as an honorable loss in his eyes, and a dishonorable victory was even worse.

 

It didn’t take long for her to change into her family’s familiar colors, and she was soon outside. She should have known the duel would draw an audience; it seemed like half the school milled about on the north lawn, waiting for - she assumed - the newcomer to be put in her place. She was fighting for House and Home, though, and refused to show any sign of how nervous their presence made her.

 

Taler was there, swinging his arms in a cocky stretch as he waited. He’d replaced his frock coat with a shorter coat in the same gold and black she assumed was another Albian uniform; with how big a part the military played in Chak culture, Ceta wouldn’t be surprised if they had a special uniform for using the washroom.

 

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” he said, looking her over. She wore the crimson and black doublet of her house, while her earlier skirt was replaced by a pair of nearly as loose black breeches tucked into tall blood-red boots.

 

“And miss our date? Isa, no,” she said. She grabbed a pair of gloves, slapping them against her thigh to loosen the salt-infused leather. They didn’t offer much in the way of protection, but swords didn’t feel right without that thin layer of leather between her and the hilt. She set them back on the ground and pulled an intricately chased and slightly dented lobster tail helmet from its worn leather bag. Practiced hands buckled the strap beneath her chin and she retrieved her gloves. Sani opened the case she’d brought and Ceta removed the sword from inside. It was small - especially for someone as tall as her - and slender, with a guard even more ornate than her helm; filigrees surrounding an amethyst the size of a robin’s egg set in its center. Most people would dismiss the sword as a child’s plaything and, while it was designed for a child, it was no plaything. Or rather, its sharpened sister wasn’t, and this Amethyst was its twin in everything but edge.

 

It was also the blade she’d used in her very first fencing lesson - and still trained with to this day - and flowed in her hand like water from a teapot.

 

She saluted. “Care to dance?”

 

Taler’s return salute wasn’t meant to honor his opponent, it was meant to intimidate, and it worked.

 

Almost.

 

It was a great demonstration of the force he could muster from the large sword he carried, but it also showed its weight. The blade was meant to cut through armor and, even bated as it was, would make short work of the slender redhead if he landed a blow.

 

That was something she’d rather avoid.

 

Of course it would also be hard to stop at the end of a swing, something she didn’t have to worry about with her “toy”.

 

There was no announcement that the fight had begun, no call of lay on, only Taler’s long strides as he attacked to announce the fight’s beginning. Ceta skipped back as his blade arced down, missing her by a mere inch. Now it was her turn; a step and a lunge and the point of her blade pressed gently against his chest.

 

“Too weak,” he announced, turning his blade to beat hers away. “We fight like soldiers here, not like some poof in court.”

 

Well, that explains the afraid of a little pain comment, Ceta thought, very glad her attendant brought her helmet. She might not be as brilliant as her mother had been, but her hats would be useless without a head to carry them.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, dancing out of the way of his next attack. She continued to dodge - there was no way she could parry that beast of a blade - looking for an opening.

 

There it was.

 

She waited, making sure it wasn’t a trap meant to lure her in.

 

It wasn’t.

 

Taler was strong, but not very skilled. Either that, or he was angry. Either way, he was cutting strong, heavy X’s - right down, let the sword’s momentum draw it back up, and then cut from the left.

 

She smiled.

 

She had him.

 

He began his pattern again. Ceta waited until his sword began its first upward arc and stepped in. She brought her sword up in what would have been a block if her blade was heavier and she as strong as her opponent. Neither was true, so instead of stopping his blade, he overpowered hers, forcing it down. His sword slid the entire length of Amethyst’s blade until it slipped off her tip and continued through empty space. Her blade, however...

 

She’d used nearly everything she had to fight against the force of his attack even though she knew there was no chance of stopping it. When his blade slipped off the end of hers, it sprang up, arcing high over their heads before the strength she’d stolen slammed her blade down into his shoulder with the crack of bones breaking and a scream of pain.

 

One of the things Sani drilled into her over the years since she’d lost her mother was to kill your opponent until they were dead. Not that she’d kill him – not over something like this – but the strategy was sound, and she’d keep fighting until he stopped. Ceta drew back her sword and thrust, not caring that his sword lay forgotten in the grass while he cradled his broken collar bone with his other hand. The thrust she’d began the fight with had landed gently in the middle of his chest, her last didn’t. It landed below his belt with far more force than a poof in court would use and he crumpled to the ground.

 

She saluted her fallen opponent and turned to the crowd. “Anyone else care to dance?”

 

Silence.

 

Her father would be proud.

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